Sense
by Bebedora
Summary: Darkness comes without warning, and without apology. One must learn a new way of life, if one is to survive in a world suddenly black as night. [[CHAPTER 9 SPOILERS]] [[COMPLETE]]


Sense

" _Ignis?"_

A long, drawn-out sigh escaped tired lips. The lone figure rested his hands on the smooth marble countertop, the stone feeling cool to the touch.

"I'll be out shortly."

" _Do you need any help?"_

Another sigh, accompanied this time by a shake of the head. "Certainly not, I'm making do just fine."

" _O-okay. Just holler if you need anything."_ Prompto backed away from the door, leaving Ignis to himself.

Reaching up to his face, Ignis removed his glasses, perched on his nose more out of habit than necessity. He knew the lenses were cracked. He knew the temples were bent. He knew—he no longer had any use for them. Setting the shattered spectacles on the counter, his hand brushed over a small aluminum box. Pushing it aside with a huff, he brought his hands up to his face.

Ignis winced as his fingertips brushed over the angry wound covering his left eye. Burned and raw, the skin still felt as if it were on fire, even though rounds of healing salve applied all night should have eased his discomfort. He let his hand linger a moment more on his face before returning it to the coolness of the stone countertop.

He relished in the sensation.

After all, it was one of only four he had left.

Ghosting his fingertips over the marble, he felt a defect—a small, hairline crack. More than likely unnoticeable to the naked eye, Ignis nevertheless found it. He wondered if anyone else had ever noticed the blemish, or if it had any visible definition. He traced it until he could no longer detect the crack, his finger bumping up against the backsplash.

Straightening his posture, Ignis turned and felt his way along the wall to the shower stall. The glass was etched, the young man unable to make out the pattern by touch alone. Slipping the towel around his waist down and off, he stepped in and fumbled for the faucet. As the water began to sluice over his battered body, he hissed in pain. The wounds on his face protested the liquid assault, and he fought the urge to scream out.

For he knew that would surely bring the cavalry.

Pressing his lips together tightly until the agony passed, he steadied himself against the wall on shaky arms. His body was fatigued, his mind not far behind. The stench of blood permeated the quickly-steaming enclosure, the dried flecks in his hair cascading down his body on scarlet-tinted rivers. It pooled around his feet, crimson swirls circling the drain.

Ignis had always loved the color red.

Warm mist tickled his nostrils as the hot water pelted his chest. The sound of the droplets hitting his skin thundered around him, drowning out any outside noise that threatened to interrupt his solitude. He felt safe in this moment, away from the dangers of the world underneath a cascade of warmth. Even though he knew Eos was consumed with chaos and Noctis lay unconscious a few rooms over, he took this time to gather his thoughts. He owed himself at least that. Ten minutes wasn't going to hurt anyone.

He opened a bottle of shampoo, after much fuss trying to locate it, and lathered up his hair. The unexpected scent of berries startled him, leftover from Prompto's shower that morning. He made mental note to ask the young man not to leave his toiletries behind. Unable to do anything about the surprise shampoo, all Ignis could do was finish cleansing his locks and rinse it out. At least his hair would smell nice.

As he massaged the soap into his scalp, his fingers rubbed over a knot, left over from the previous day's incident. More than likely the injury that caused his bout of unconsciousness, he gingerly washed around it, careful not to press too hard. When the suds were rinsed from his hair, he quickly made work of the rest of his body, mindful of the plethora of small cuts and scrapes. They needed to be cleansed, he told himself, as he scrubbed. The pain wasn't too intense, but nonetheless uncomfortable. When he was satisfied that his skin was washed and his wounds were cleaned, he turned the water temperature up and just stood there.

Letting the droplets from the showerhead bombard his face, Ignis opened his mouth and allowed the water to pool around his teeth. The faint taste of saline, no doubt from the oceanic source of the water, washed over his tongue. He had never noticed it before today.

He wondered if the food he ate would now taste different to him.

Ignis hadn't eaten since the previous morning—before everything went to pot. His stomach grumbled as he leaned against the tile wall, the cool stones quickly warming at the contact with his body. The young man knew he should eat, felt the urge to cook something for him and his friends—but couldn't bring himself to try.

How could he cook when he couldn't even see his hand in front of his own face?

Slamming a fist against the shower wall, Ignis grunted as the bones in his hand instantly bruised. He immediately regretted the outburst of anger. It was very unlike him, and he needed to keep his cool—especially now.

The water temperature waned again, and when Ignis tried to bring warmer water to his body, he was met with ever-more cooling droplets. Realizing he had drained the hot-water tank, he grumbled and turned the shower off. Standing there for a long moment as the remaining water dripped from his body, he finally reached out into the bathroom proper in an attempt to locate his towel.

It was then that he realized he had haphazardly dropped it to the floor.

A sighted man wouldn't have a problem finding it. A sighted man could easily get another out of the linen closet. A sighted man—could take care of himself.

Suddenly hit with the realization that his vision might never return, that he would become ever more dependent on others, and with a future most certainly bathed in perpetual darkness…

…Ignis cried.

He wept for his friends, no longer able to rely on him in battle.

He wept for his family, knowing when he returned to them he would be looked upon with pity.

He wept for Lunafreya, robbed of life at too young an age.

He wept for himself, for he knew nothing would ever be the same.

Wallowing in his misery, he allowed himself a few moments of uncharacteristic melancholy, his frustrations spilling to the floor from sightless eyes. He stood there in the middle of the bathroom, naked as the day he was born, crying over that which he had lost.

When the tears would no longer come, he composed himself and found his discarded towel. Careful not to rub too rough on his scarred eye, he quickly dried his skin and dressed. There was no way he would let on to his companions that he had become emotional. He had a duty to his friends, to Noctis. The prince lay unresponsive outside that door, and it would soon be his turn to sit vigil.

Shuffling back to the countertop, he fumbled around until he found the small jar of salve. He took a moment to apply a liberal amount per doctor's orders, wincing as the balm soaked into his tormented skin. After waiting a minute for the discomfort to pass, Ignis replaced the lid and set it down.

The pot of salve teetered on the edge of the countertop before crashing to the floor. It rolled under a decorative cart filled with towels, and out of the young man's reach.

" _Iggy? You ok?"_ Prompto's frantic voice wafted out from behind the door. The handle jiggled, his friend obviously trying to gain entry through the locked barrier. _"What was that noise? Are you hurt?"_

Grumbling at both the loss of his prescription and the gunslinger's unwarranted panic, he sighed and replied, "I'm fine; I've just knocked something from the countertop."

" _Okay… well, Gladio and I brought you some lunch. It's on the table near your chair."_

"Much obliged. I'll be out momentarily."

Ignis could hear the young man shuffling away yet again, muffled voices conversing somewhere in the distance of the room. It sounded like a news broadcast, no doubt talking about the incident from the previous day.

Out of habit, Ignis found himself staring at the mirror as he ran a hand through his hair to style it. Unable to see his reflection, he had to rely on touch alone to ensure his appearance was acceptable. Reaching for his broken glasses, he paused and hovered his hand over them for a long moment. He sighed heavily as he wrapped his fingers around them. They had been such an important part of his life, such a distinguishing part of his image.

And now, they were useless.

Ignis set them down and fumbled for the box he knew was there—somewhere. The ophthalmologist had presented it to him that morning after her exam, suggesting a substitute for his old spectacles. Contained inside was a pair of shaded lenses, able to conceal his injured eyes. She reminded him that they wouldn't help nor hinder his vision in any way, but were purely aesthetic, offering Ignis some comfort by replicating the familiar weight his eyeglasses once provided.

He opened the box and removed the glasses, perching them perfectly on the bridge of his nose. Having no way to tell if they suited him properly, he pocketed his broken frames and unlocked the bathroom door.

Counting the memorized steps from the threshold to the chair he had claimed as his own, Ignis was immediately assaulted by the scent of the sea air, and a crisp ocean breeze.

-end-

 _A/N: What's a girl to do when her novel is at the editor? Write fanfic, of course. Because I clearly can't stay away. This one is for EmeraldLatias. Because she knows my love for Ignis runs deep._


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